The Freedoms Of Justice
Disclaimers And Terms - READ THESE!! You may NOT use ANY content from this fanfiction without the author's written permission. This includes, but is NOT limited to, use of ideas presented, use or duplication of the images displayed, the use or duplication of quotes, redistribution of the text, etc. The characters presented are entirely fictional. Any and all similarities found are merely a coincidence. The main character, depicted in the image above, is the property of the author. You will need their written permission to use this character, which includes concept, personality, appearance, morals, etc. SkyWings and the dragon world of Pyrrhia are based around the Wings of Fire series, written by Tui T. Sutherland and published/owned by Scholastic Press, USA. Author's Note Well, I did it. Before I get into my main point, I'd like to give you my inspiration for this story... If you're a fan of Star Wars, there are these comics called "Star Wars: Infinities" where they basically take a movie, add one tweak to the plot, and go from there. "Star Wars: Infinities - A New Hope" had a cool cover gallery in the back, with a picture of Leia wielding a lightsaber. I really liked the pose, and tried to replicate it as a dragon. The result was the image you've probably already seen. Not like Star Wars has anything to do with this story, but just putting my inspiration out there. Either way, I really liked it... I wanted to add a story behind the character. And even though I did the New Year's Gifts and some prizes for the writing contest... I wanted to give a last contribution to the wiki. And I also wanted to enter the contest to see where I'd place along everyone else... but this isn't the main point. My point is, the style in which this story was written… I did it to represent something. Try to figure it out of you can. I think it's a bit obvious, so you shouldn't have much trouble. I wasn't as cryptic as I, or most authors in fact, usually am. Also, to the Spaniards reading... sorry about all of this... I love your country, though! If you ever happen to see an awkward and antisocial American that can't speak Spanish worth a darn within the next decade or so, then that's me! So without further ado, please enjoy. ''The Freedoms Of Justice'' Word count: 8,388 Classification: Novelette ''Life is for the dying. The day he hatched earthquakes pried the snow free of the mountain’s cold grasp, liberating the icy crystals of containment and willing it into a hungry avalanche, thirsty for the freedom and the energy of sheer disaster. The day he hatched the sun rose with magnificent streaks of light, as if the SkyWings inside had been freed from the heat of the star. The reds bloodied the oranges, the oranges contrasted the yellows, and the yellows brightened the reds into a shimmer even the richest of queens would envy. The day he hatched rivers erupted into cheerful yet frightening displays of crystal light, catching the sun’s gorgeous rays in a display of nature’s pure dominance over the scientific power of the NightWings and the architectural engineering of the SeaWings. The day he hatched the stars fell across the sky like a giant, celestial NightWing wrapping its wings around the world and opening its white, glowing eyes as the light of the two full moons, leaving the darkness of its scales to compensate for the new moon, hiding from the peace it created and the wondrous gazes of the RainWings and MudWings alike. Beauty is for the vain. The moment he found his mother, she shrieked from peering into the eerie, violet streaks of glowing light that scarred her son’s body and dominating the once-beautiful orange eyes of the dragonet, leaving behind a slightly demonic-looking dragon whose innocence was purely ironic. The moment he found his father, he shouted in surprise as his son’s wings darkened to a shadowy black and his scales rusted to dull colors, leaving only his underbelly to reflect the torches’ fiery light and the angelic impression of his parents, which had been left for waste. The moment he found a friend to make, the scarlet and gold SkyWing roared in disgust, lighting the rusty dragonet’s face in a shower of sparkling flames and buffeting him with his wings, sending dirt and pebbles into the air, yearning for the lost chance before them. The moment he found the river, the MudWings on the other side grumbled in shock, drowning out the noise of the SkyWing dragonet stepping heavily into the clear, shallow water, sending splashes of water droplets onto his wings as he waved happily at the curious MudWings who didn’t know whether to step closer or run away. The moment he found his home, his parents stood aside as the reluctant and fearful SkyWing guards seized the dragonet’s arms, legs, wings, and tail under the orders of a raging dragon, her ruby eyes piercing the darkness of the night as the dragonet was carried away from his birthplace and her golden teeth flashing as she spoke in words he failed to understand, “Only the vain cannot see the beauty within you, young dragonet…” Kindness is for the selfish. '' When he was brought into the SkyWing palace, he was thrust into chains, unable to escape the cold grip seeping into his scales as he stared off into the sky as the sun stared back at him, its clouded light giving the jewels and the rocks in her throne room a dull, dissatisfied look. When he heard the clinking of claws against polished stone, he paid the horrified SkyWing guards no heed when they released the chains from the rocky spire with a quick blast of scorching fire, like a flash of lightning escaping the confines of a thundercloud. When he awoke on a windy rock spire overlooking the night sky, he shivered as he faced the dragons next to him, yapping in joy as he recognized his parents, who were as still and lifeless as the stars above, save for a flicker or a twinkle of their sad eyes, resembling dying flames on a bed of coals. When he rose with the sun the next morning, he cried in anguish as his father also rose into the sky, carried by three sunset-streaked SkyWings who set him upon a field of sand, the other side bearing a dragon the color of his mother’s horns, with wisps of sparkling smoke reaching into the sky with every chance they were given. When he finally found his mother safe on a spire to his far right, a roar of cheering, bloodthirsty dragons brought his eyes to the sand below, his father gasping over the corpse of the icy dragon that had stood ever-so-proudly moments before, as if the icy dragon had just carried the moons on his shoulders and could take on the world, but the load was just too much for the thin layer of frost upon a summer lake. When he was brought into the same sunlit room he knew only a day or two before, he shivered in fear when her evil, ruby eyes glinted as she grasped him in her talons as he tried to escape, but to no avail, as she began to speak in a smooth, slithery voice as she tapped his purple scars with the tips of her talons, whispering: “Oh, what to do with you. Anyone who I show kindness to sees that I’m only doing it for myself… how unfortunate. They never seem to realize that I’m doing it for them, those selfish dragons. Are you any different? Will you find me greedy when I’m only trying to help my kingdom?” ''Love is for the cold-hearted. A full moon pierced the sky overhead with its snowy glow as he paced the golden path that sliced the stone floor into pieces, like a river of lava peaking through the surface and ripping entire continents apart. That’s at least how he thought of it; he was a dragon impervious to the lava and the inferiors underneath his talons, nothing could touch him, nothing could hurt him, and nothing could scar him until she thought otherwise. A SkyWing guard, whose vermilion face, golden eyes, and rusted orange wings hid behind gleaming metal armor, took a cautious step into the room and tapped his talons along the floor to get the dragonet's attention. When dark, unsettling purple eyes met the fearful golden eyes of the elder dragon, the guard clambered away with the dragonet at his tail, headed for her private throne room amidst the ominous SkyWing palace that reeked of an accursed and haunted soul. A flash of light signaled the guards away, leaving two dragons in the room. He instantly leaped for her open and welcoming arms once given the opportunity only moments later. She enveloped her wings around him, but flows of emotion caught his attention, warning him of her withdraw several seconds later. "You've lived here a few years." She said plainly, recognizing it as common fact other than the bait thrown out for others in the scrolls he'd read. "And it's time I've told you something. "A day in which the world shook was the day you hatched, and the channeled fear of the dragons of Pyhrria shaped you to be the beauty you are now. But your parents didn't see this." He opened his mouth to protest, but she simply shut it with a tap of her talons on her chin. "They hated you. They called upon the Royal Guard of the Sky Kingdom, hoping they would see your termination. The cowards. Most of us who see a flaw in our children simply take it into our own talons. But nonetheless. "A long flight it was, but not for the mighty wings of a sky dragon. We were born from the blood of the sky itself, but that is another story for another day." There was a short pause as she tracked her previous point. "Ah. Your parents. They didn't see any hope in you, but I did. Never before has a dragon like you flown among our tribe's wings. Honestly I'm not sure what you are. There has never been a SkyWing animus, and even if you are one, who's to say that you are or are not?" A curious look made her smile, and she quickly explained the concept at question. "An animus, known only among the SandWings, the NightWings, and the SeaWings, can enchant any object to do their bidding, but at the price of their soul." He nodded as shiver rattled along his spine, wondering if he was one of these so-called animus dragons, and perhaps the first of the SkyWings, the tribe born from the blood of the heavens. "A day later and you were brought here under my care," she continued abruptly, shaking him loose of his thoughts prior. "And your parents were executed for their crimes, both past and present." He cried in anguish to at her news, angry at his motherly figure with red eyes, but she sighed and stroked his head, careful of the dulled gray spines and horns. "They didn't love you. They may have said that, but they were cold-hearted. Only the cold-hearted must say that they are in love, for their actions fail to speak for words." Vengeance is for the cowards. Many months passed before a dragon dared to mess with him. As he was carving a sculpture of a dragonflame cactus into the cold surface of one of the many rocky spires sprouting from the bottom floors of the palace, a small group of dragonets his age swooped down from above, giggling rattling through their ranks. He gave them a glance of sheer annoyance and immediately returned to his work, trying to replicate the grooves and needles and pods of the cactus perfectly. Producing small spurts of fire as purple as a NightWing's scales, he heated the rock to make carving easier, although it took a great thrust of willpower to do so, as the fire appeared to drain him in an unexplainable way. From across the vast room an orange SkyWing dragonet with a golden underbelly and sunshine-tinted wings shouted: "What's that? A self portrait?" Her companions smirked and snickered as he purposefully failed to hide a sinister snarl, which sent the group into uncontrollable waves of laughter. Another dragonet joined in: "Oh, don't listen to Letizia"Letizia" is the current queen of Spain., she can be really nasty sometimes. Maybe you could see a resemblance in that--" the scarlet dragonet with blood red highlights motioned to the carving with his left wing--"if you weren't such a horrible sculptor." The rest of the group roared in laughter once more, some even breathing triumphant jets of fire into the air. He turned his back to them and ruffled his wings, threatening to stretch them to full width, a sign of both strength and confidence. The group giggled when he did so, so caught up in their laughter that they didn't notice his glare of hatred. He spurted a wisp of smoke before continuing his work, to which Letizia interrupted with: "I hear your mama's been treating you ''so well! Oh, wait! Silly me! She's dead!" Before they could bathe in the false glory of their dirtily won victory, he snapped, sending a torrent of relentless fire almost the color of a northern aurora at the helpless dragon that happened to be in the hungry flames' path. Swallowed by the ghastly inferno, the only evidence of the perishing dragon's existence, other than the witnesses' memory, was the piercing screams that echoed off the mountain walls with such intensity that even he threw his wings to his ears, trying to block the horrendous noise. And as the screams faded into the sky and the fire dissipated, the other dragonets looked back at him with shock, their glances full of fear in horror. A red dragonet threw up at the sight of the charred corpse before him. Panting from the effort of summoning the fire and his scars flickering with evil light, he stood before the collection of disturbed SkyWings, his head hung low yet in a murderous manner, as if they could imagine blood dripping from the rusty dragon's maw. And with his wings tucked and his tail lashing like a caged scavenger, he choked a cough as he managed a growl, sending the dragonets yelping as the climbed over one another to take to the sky. Pleased, he smiled and returned to his work, totally disregarding the pile of ashes only a short leap away. A bolt of power forced its addicting and dominating self through him, unaware he just ended the life of a young dragon just like himself. Only a tap of his shoulder alerted him of his motherly figure's presence. Whirling around to face her, he was surprised to see her look of displeasure. "Aren't you glad?" he asked, reading her gloomy expression and pointing to the carbonized dragonet. "Isn't this what you wanted? Power and stability over others? Revenge?" She did what she had yet to do to him. She snarled, pinning him against the spire and splattering small streaks of blood across her talons, his scales, and the stone behind him. Keeping the furious look on her face, she snarled once more as he fought her impervious strength. "You killed him. He will never see the light again. He will never think again. He will never see his family again. They will never see him again. He's gone, erased from this world. And you are the one who did this. Maybe he lunged first. But you unbalanced the scales; you threw off the serenity and beauty of perfect wings. One wing is now larger than the other. This world can fly no longer. Coward, you are. Vengeance rips the wings off of a dragon when justice only returns what was lost to the other side. You took a life for an eye. You killed him. An eye for an eye will make the world go blindOriginal quote said by Mahatma Gandhi.; a wing for a wing will render the world flightless; a life for a life will leave us as dust in the wind." And with that, she seized his right wrist, shattering it and leaving it hanging and suspended in the air, just as lifeless as the soul he reaped only moments before. ''Honesty is for the liars. At first he tried to hide the fact that he had just killed a dragonet, innocent or not. But apparently, the news of the demise of Felipe"Felipe (VI)" is the current king of Spain., the son of the SkyWing queen herself, spread like wildfire. The sheer fact that ''he, of all the dragons in Pyrrhia that could have possibly and/or potentially murdered a queen's son, killed Felipe didn't make his experiences any better. His brethren who would once look at him with a slight bit of awe or jealousy or curiosity now glared at him viciously or downright shunned him, like the thought of having to share precious air with him was enough to pull their tails. His broken wrist didn't help, either. It hurt profoundly to put any, even a little, weight on it, making the most simple of tasks an utter hassle. Either way, there was no point in hiding the fact that yes, he killed Felipe, and yes, his own motherly figure shattered his wrist. But he honestly didn't know what motivated her to do so. He had started to piece a few explanations into his head, but all of them were struck out of flight by the lightning of realization before they reached their destination: an answer, if not the answer. He didn't understand it. Why wasn't there an answer? There always was. Unless... He pushed the traitorous thought aside. Never should a SkyWing think such toxic thoughts, he reminded himself. Even though she loved him (or did she?), treason was enough to through any SkyWing into the arena, the place in which his biological parents may have perished. It doesn't matter. He concluded. They're dead anyway. True SkyWings loyal to the blood of their queen only take stock in what matters. And the dead don't matter anymore. They're dead. Sure, their names still live on, but their souls do not. So they are dead, but living in our heads... wait, are they still dead? Confused, he nearly bumped into a hissing wrath of ruby scales as he clumsily limped through a poorly lit corridor that led to... well, he wasn't quite sure himself. Looking up, he was shocked to see gracious rivers of light flooding from a wide opening along the gloomy, stone walls. Taking a cautious peek inside, he was even more surprised to see that scrolls of all sizes stocked the thin, rocky shelves--they seemed to go on forever, from one vast corner to the other, from the tips of his talons to the peaks of the mountain so many SkyWing's wingbeats above. Stalking into the lifeless cavern, he slipped into a corner lit only by a candle choking on the last, frayed threads of light. He grabbed a seemingly random scroll, snapped it open (while tearing it at the corners in the process), read a few words, and threw it back on the shelf, disregarding the fact that he didn't roll it back properly. Sighing, he sulked with his wings folded and his back to the dying heat of the candle. His poor wrist throbbed, and he thought it may never heal. In fact, was there a certain way to treat it while it was broken? He'd seen bones broken in arena fights, the bone severed in two with a mighty pop, leaving a howling dragon and a wobbly limb that could no longer support its owner. His wrist hung lifelessly like that, but it didn't hurt very much. Why? Was it his curse, as most dragons would call it? Or was it his gift, as his motherly figure would claim? Suddenly motivated, he dragged himself across the stunningly organized library, finally coming across the scrolls listed as "Biology, Anatomy, And The Life Sciences." There weren't many titles under the category, but he managed to find one that was listed to have been stolen from the NightWings in a past war. Reading the title, The Skeletal And Muscle Anatomy Of NightWings And Possibly The Inferior (how offensive!), he managed to find that his wrist apparently needed some medical care. Unaware of the consequences, he shoved that scroll back and scanned the library for something that could possibly interest him. While his wrist protested weakly, he snatched up a scroll about "fireborn" SkyWings, as he wondered if he was one of them. Quickly scanning the sloppily written words and phrases, he concluded that he was something else. Fireborns always had twins, were of different coloring than he, expelled extreme heat, could not breathe fire, and usually died a few years after adulthood. Dissatisfied once again, he carelessly returned the scroll to its shelf and wondered about the library until he came across a shelf with the words AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY carved bold and clear in the stone; only a blind dragon would miss it. His curiosity and rebellious nature getting the best of him, he grabbed a random scroll from the stack, this one tied together with a leathery purple string, gave it a quick inspection, and carefully slipped the tie off, letting it fall to the floor. He snapped the scroll open and scanned the paper, gasping at what he read. "As order of the Inter-tribal Court Of Dragon Leaders And Ambassadors Alike, the entire SkyWing tribe is to be banished from the mainland of Pyrrhia for their crimes against our own kind, SkyWings, SeaWings, MudWings, SandWings, RainWings, NightWings, and IceWings alike. They are to leave the continent and find their own dwellings beyond visual sight, and they are never to return. Crimes that would cause such a punishment were committed by the tribe, including: murder or both civilian populations and out-of-tribe homicide; the enslavement and imprisonment of and deprivation of food, water, and shelter to civilians and out-of-tribe prisoners of war; the false intelligence presented to civilians; the torture and forced violence to civilians and out-of-tribe dragons; and the recorded persecution to the dragons of the IceWings, SandWings, RainWings, NightWings, SeaWings, and MudWings...Based off of the International Criminal Court's crimes against humanity." Shivering, he rolled the scroll back into its original position, horrible thoughts flashing through his mind. His shaking talons reached for the purple string on the ground when his motherly figure appeared by his side, glaring down upon him like a SandWing ready to strike with its venomous tail. He opened his mouth to explain or make up some kind of lie that would get him out of this situation or even to ask what in Pyrrhia this scroll was saying, but she clawed him square in the jaw before he could speak. "What are you doing? Why are you here? Why were you reading that?" With his mouth quivering and violet eyes watering, she apparently read his broken expression of disbelief and betrayal. "Have you yet to hear? It's true that the tribe has lied to you, and even to itself... Oh, why did we lie, claiming that we were telling the truth? Because honesty is for the liars... only liars claim that their word is true." ''Freedom is for the captured. After the incident in the library, he was prohibited from going practically ''anywhere without an escort, either from a battle-hardened and patriotic veteran, typically with some kind of wound, or his motherly figure herself. Because most of the war veterans were injured, i.e. had a missing limb, a torn wing, a limb, etc., it was easy to outrun them. However, they usually could roar ridiculously loud, which never ended well for him or the torrents of the unfortunate SkyWing guards who just happened to hear the call. And his motherly figure... she always seemed to know where he was, what he was doing, and she could always best him in anything, physical or mental. Of course, he considered killing his escorts--but that would come with two prices that he was not willing to pay: the wrath of his motherly figure and the weird and haunting drain from the use of his accursed "powers." The murder would also be a light show, purple, pink, and blinding white lights flashing everywhere, drawing in other dragons like a flame attracts mosquitoes. After the intense drain of killing one dragon, he couldn't possibly handle tens or hundreds of SkyWings, each individual trained in the arts of combat. He even wondered why his motherly figure found him so important... sure, he was deadly, but he could only kill a dragon or two before--well, he didn't know. But the guilty memories of attempted escape haunted him. Once, he had sliced off the forearm of one of his escorts in his sleep--a middle-aged and hardy orange SkyWing who was already missing his left forearm. Another time, he chained a rusty-red SkyWing soldier after she fell asleep due to the Death's Forsaking Fruit he had hidden behind his back, forcing it into her mouth as she tried to chain him for the night. He knew that it would make quickly make her fall into dream's clutches; it didn't occur to him that it would kill her. Quickly after that thought, past visions of him slicing a friendly dragonet's wings to shreds, dumping ice onto a doomed twin of a fireborn and hastening its death, ripping the barbed tip of a SandWing prisoner's tail off and stabbing its owner with its own venom, and catching a confused RainWing's venom in a metal bucket, only to dump the ghastly goop onto his companion. These thoughts flickering through his jumbled conscience, he looked up at his motherly figure's disregarding face as they walked down a corridor, enough room for the wingspans of four fully grown SkyWings. As they passed torch after torch, he decided not to talk to the furious, blood-eyed dragon next time. He decided to kill time by counting the torches they encountered along the way. When he reached the five-hundred's, the older SkyWing beside him stopped in a vast cavern, cells occupying the empty space. A torch flickered weakly between each of the twenty-five cells, the fiery light reflecting ominously off of the metal bars. After a short pause, he asked: "Why are we here?" At first she didn't answer; she kept staring in the same direction as she had been when they entered the cavern. Moments passed before she spoke. "You are too dangerous and reckless to handle. You have killed and injured many innocent dragons. You have snooped into private business, and we cannot contain you. This is a specific prison for dragons like you--these walls, bars, and chains were enchanted by an animus many years ago, meant to keep radical and mutinous dragons under control. Nothing can open or break through except the voluntary will of the SkyWing queen herself." Before he could question what that meant, she seized him by the tail and threw him into a nearby cell, chaining him as he blinked. The next moment she was standing on the other side of the bars, tears streaming down her scaly cheeks as she looked down upon what she thought was her son. "I loved you," she choked. "But I hate what you have become." She stared at him for a few more seconds, then dashed back down the corridor in which they had arrived, leaving him truly alone, with no hopes of escape, for the first time in his beginning life. He awake many hours later, tears of both saltSee what I did there? Yes, I know that was practically useless, but come on, I gotta show off my poor sense of humor! and longing staining his rusted scales. As he lay upon the cold, stone floor, he looked up at the ceiling above, images of his past childhood weaving their way through the stone, like ghostly images trying and failing to fully resurrect themselves from the dark clutches of the mountain above. They left a tormenting cloud of discomfort upon the dragon staring from below, reminding him of his crimes and his imminent death. He took a deep breath, listening to the his evil laughing and other dragons' deathly screaming, the noises circling his head, trying to find a way inside and seize control of the physical being before them, like lightning searching for a path to the earth. After hours of his past crimes bearing down upon him, his motherly figure holding them in place, his tears dried up and his sobbing ceased, leaving the last cry to echo across the massive hollowing in the mountain. He recited her words over and over again in his mind, the only place in which he was free to fly. While his thoughts soared, he traced the cracks in the stone with the very talon he--no, he wouldn't think about that here. Now was a time to cleanse his past self and redeem his being. If he did that, then maybe, just maybe, she would come back and let him free. But how would she know? He was stuck at the bottom of one of the largest mountains in all of Pyrrhia. Even though she always seemed to know what was thinking, she couldn't read thoughts, could she? She was a SkyWing, not one of those pesky and overrated NightWings (or was he being lied to about that as well?). Could she be a hybrid? She looked purebred. Although, her eyes... Suddenly furious at his obsession for his motherly figure's identity, he decided to focus on what truly mattered: getting out. She had mentioned that there was no way out of the chains, the door, or the walls without the SkyWing queen's will. Whatever that meant, he wasn't positive. Although, what he did know was that that left the floor and the ceiling. Because his wings were chained, the latter was left out of the picture. There was one way out: down. As he estimated how long it would take him to drill his way through the earth, he mentally slapped himself. Why was he so plagued by the thought of freedom? He had never thought about it in so much detail before. So why did he now? Before he could think of an answer, another voice spoke the answer for him: "It's because you're captured. You're caged." His head whirled upward to see his motherly figure snarling through the bars, her ruby eyes boring into him. "You have been imprisoned, and you long for what you once had. Freedom.Based off of Maya Angelou's poem "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings".Some dragons never recognize the rights bestowed upon them until they are stripped away, never to be seen again." ''Justice is for the wicked. She had really just come to drop off a dead, charred pig by his feet, which actually surprised him, because he originally thought he would be starved. After what she's done so far, he wouldn't have been shocked if his motherly figure chose to do so. But right after she spoke to him and left the pig outside the bars, apparently expecting him to find a way to get it through to the ''other side so he could eat it, she left, not giving him a second glance. He considered that for a moment, and shrugged it off. He would have acted the same if he had been in her talons. Staring at the pig for a moment, he tried to squeeze his talons through the bars, but to no avail. He could barely fit the tip of his tail in between the seemingly indestructible metal. Tried and frustrated, he sighed and gave up on the pig. Maybe it was better that he rot alive in here. But why him? Why did he have to sit through this? He only killed a few dragons. When he read about the War of SandWing Succession, it appeared that a single dragon killed thousands. And he never read anything about why they weren't trialed or punished. Well, at least, not by their tribes. If they were caught by the opposing tribes, then sure, they'd be punished. But never by their own kind. Why was that? Enraged, he unwillingly blasted a wall of tormenting violet fire at the bars before him, the flames flickering and dancing around for a few moments before fading into death itself. Slightly taken back and even angrier than before, he jumped to his feet and began pacing around in the little room he had. Grumbling to himself, he didn't notice the clatter of armor and talons on stone floor and the shadows cast across the room as a SkyWing guard entered the prisoner's room, armed with his armor and a spear. Only noticing the guard when they took post right outside of his cell, he continued to mumble supposedly random dialogue that happened to catch the guard's attention. "Wait... you killed Barcelona"Barcelona" is a major city in Spain.?" the guard asked in a wavering voice, completely horrified as to what the dragon on the other side of the bars had confessed in the guard's presence. Before he answered, he gave the guard a thorough look. Although he was mostly hidden by his bulky metal armor, he was an imperial red dragon with a golden underbelly, wings, and eyes. He had an unnaturally long tail, but that was it for odd features. His talons, spines, and two horns were a light gray, concluding that this dragon was probably less-tempered and didn't breathe fire very often. With that thought finished, he wondered what color his horns were and what his talons were originally colored. Maybe his horns would have a purple tint, a contrast to all of the rusty reds on the rest of him. "I don't know." he answered, bored. "I've killed quite a few dragons." Looking at his stained talons and wondering if the blood of this so-called-and-supposedly-important-Barcelona was at his very claw tips, he thought back to all of the dragons he'd slain and what they looked like. Barcelona sounded like a female name, so he tried to recall all of the females. It was exceptionally difficult due to his clouded visions and the fact that he didn't see gender very well. After trying and failing to recall a female, he looked at the shivering guard and wondered... he sounded like he knew this Barcelona dragon. Maybe she looked like him. But then again, not all dragons who appeared to know each other well looked alike. In fact, he'd seen orange-and-gold SkyWings with blood-red SkyWings, especially in the scrolls about SkyWing royalty. It made no sense to him. "You... don't know?" choked the guard after a few moments, breaking his train of thought. He snarled in anger, making the older, larger, and probably stronger SkyWing cower in fear. It was a feeling he appreciated, like someone knew who he was and what he was capable of doing and respected him for it. "Okay, okay! I'm sorry." The guard began spewing out apologies, which made him even more nervous. Why was he doing this? If there had been no bars, he probably would have leapt out immediately and killed that nuisance right on the spot. "No. Why would I?" He answered, hoping the guard would just leave him alone. Besides, why was he here? He obviously wasn't going anywhere, not with the chains and the animus fortifications. "Why are you here, anyway?" The guard fidgeting with his armor and a spear for a moment, and he believed he saw a clear strip of something tear down the guard's face, lit by the golden light of his eye. He's seen dragons do that before. He didn't know what it was or why. Actually, his motherly figure had done that. He supposed it was just another perk of being a normal dragon, something he would never enjoy. Maybe that's for the better, he instantly countered. "Well..." the guard tried to answer, but his gaze fell directly to the stone below. "She... was, well--she was my, uh... a very, er... good friend. She was a good friend of mine." Upon finishing his butchered explanation, a hardly visible flush rose to his cheeks. He was only able to detect it due to his unnatural ability to feel strong emotions wafting through the air. Nonetheless, he was disappointed, as the guard didn't answer the first question very well, and not the second one at all. He growled at the guard, who fumbled to attention. "Oh! Uh, sorry. I was... assigned. To this post. That's all they said." Nodding, he considered the answer before speaking again. "Why is it important that Barcelona is dead? They're just another dragon." He yawned, stretching and basking the the guard's sheer horror and disbelief. "It's not like they're anyone in particular. Just another blob of... whatever in the sky." Unsettled by the guard's lack of reply, he continued. "I mean, why should you care about other dragons? They just get in your way. Well, I understand if that dragon is the queen or something. But really, who needs them anyway? You should be able to do whatever you want, whenever you want." The red guard took in his words, his mouth open slightly and his eyes blank in astonishment. Whether or not the astonishment was in a positive sense or a negative one, he couldn't tell. Why was this dragon so stuck up on Barcelona? Could the dead dragoness have been his motherly figure? It wasn't possible. There was only one motherly figure: his. Right? Surely there were more dragons who wanted to look out after others. Recognizing the world in which he lived in, this probably existed. Suddenly realizing a possible mistake, he scrambled an apology and began to speak, but never got the chance. "See? This is why you're in here." the guard snapped, suddenly furious and and quivering in fear and rage. He thrust an accusing talon at him, shouting words that the purple-eyed dragon would never forget. "Maybe you only killed a little compared to past crimes. But you still ended a life. Lives. Thinking, breathing dragons who share many things in common with you! And they're dead! Never to see or think or hear or touch or taste or smell or anything ever again! Never! War has its casualties. But this... but you... are a monster. You deserve to be here. You deserve to rot. To die. You killed innocent dragons, dragons with families and friends and mothers!" The word shocked him, and he was even more shocked when he blinked and saw his motherly figure wielding the same spear and bearing the same armor. "And that's why I must end yours... justice will fall upon the wicked." ''Death is for the living. Naturally, she left right after she said those words. What was the point of this, anyway? Her words had only surprised him. Would she really kill him? And he'd read about dragons who'd murdered a few before, outside of war. What was the difference between of killing one and killing a million? If it was possible to add a numeric value to represent the price of their life, it would average out to be ''zero. But then again, what did she mean? Other dragons obviously didn't share many things in common with him. They all hated him. Of course they should die! But now that his own death was upon him, he began thinking: what was death like? Just a vast expanse of uninteractive darkness, with no start or end? Or was it a dream of how life could have or could not have been? Or maybe in between dreams: something that just wasn't remembered. His dreams lasted only minutes, seconds even, but when he slept, hours elapsed. Was death like that? Lost pieces of time, never to be put together? Or was there life after death? Or was he forced to exist as a lifeless soul, floating over the past like a shadow on a sunny day. Could death be nothing? Just, nothing? It was difficult to grasp the idea of no conscience; the concept of living but not thinking. Maybe this was how other dragons felt; they were trapped in a cloak of torture, and death was what released them. But if they were nothing, how did they speak? Act? React? Or cry, as it was called. Something, or someone, had to be doing this for them. But who? What? He figured it could be anything, even the stars themselves. But what would be great enough to control so many things, even though they were simple and worthless? His first answer was the voice inside his head: the voice he's heard all his life, the voice that did exactly what he wanted to do, the voice that thought of everything. Maybe he was nothing, and this voice, whatever it was, was everything. How awful! He was wrong and right, and his motherly figure was right and wrong... life did have a value, but what that value was, he was unsure. Life, upon death, had the potential to be something greater, something the living couldn't imagine. Although he had been wrong to slay out those who were just like him in mind, he was right. He was freeing them from the torment of breathing, releasing them into a world of all hopes and dreams. But to call him a murderer? He had to be something else, something noble. He had liberated the lives of many, after all. Ah, that was what he was. He was no murderer. He was a liberator, freeing lost souls into the hope known as death. Although his motherly figure said that justice will fall upon him, original painting a sad fate for him as justice proclaimed death, both justice and death had two different meanings: justice was a way to death, and death was eternal freedom. Therefore, justice was a path to freedom, a value that all dragons deserved to have, no matter their gender, looks, beliefs... justice was equal, just like he. Other than he and his motherly figure, he barely saw anything other than a dragon. He could never be justice, but he could be the symbolic representation, bestowing Pyrrhia with the wonders of liberty. His motherly figure returned shortly after his wondrous discovery, bringing nothing but herself. She said nothing, but her face displayed everything that the mysterious wonder was pouring into her conscience. But as the door to barred cage slowly swung open, he wondered: if this being wanted to control everything, then why did it let him discover this? If it wanted to not control anything, then it surely would have told another dragon by now, or it would have just quit. Then he realized: he was special. He had gotten past this demon, he had conquered it. And his motherly figure, the dragon he had adored and loved all his life, was its way of stopping him... she had always known what he was thinking and when he was thinking about it. She had been using him all along. Rage filled him as the sudden knowledge that something had forged his false feelings in such a way, a way in which it tricked him into believing in life and it being the most important thing. No, he couldn't let this darkness win over him. He had a chance to liberate himself and the dragon world, and he was going to take it. But he just couldn't muster the will to kill his motherly figure, queen of the SkyWings or not. Tears streamed down her face as flames gathered around her mouth, ready to deliver a fatal blow to the chained dragon before her. Or it, as he should say. There was no way out. He himself would be freed, but that would be a loss. He couldn't liberate any other dragons lost in the torture known as life, and it was his job to free them. No, he couldn't die. Not yet. With a flash of reluctance as the flames left her maw and drew to his face, he realized he would have to do something he had always hated. Glancing at the eerie scars dancing across his rusty-red scales, he roared as flames engulfed him, swallowing him in the light the color of a summer sunset. Purple light pierced the surface of the fiery hurricane, eventually winning the battle for the cave. Panting in defiance, he stood with the chains and bars oozing melted iron at his feet, the queen with a shocked and terrified expression. Without another word to his motherly figure, he dashed out out of the cage, sloshing red liquid into the air as the elder pursued the greatest danger Pyrrhia had yet to see. As he flew out of the confinements of the SkyWing palace, he considered everything: there was no way he could free all dragons. There was no way he could do it one by one, as he would be too drained to even find the next imprisoned dragon. No, had to do this all at once, and before his motherly figure could stop him. And so he flew, out of the palace and into the sky. Passerby SkyWings looked at him in both curiosity and fear as he soared upward as fast as his wings could carry him, the wind ripping across his scales and deafening him from his motherly figure's shouts and pleas. And he finally fell upon his roost: the tip of the highest spire of the SkyWing palace, the highest point in Pyrrhia, even taller than the tip of Jade Mountain itself. Ice peaked all along the rocky surface, showcasing the frosty winter the gripped the land. As he positioned himself upon the slippery grave, his motherly figure appeared in sight, a strange scroll in hand, roaring at him as he stood on his hind legs, scars flashing all shades of violet. He looked to the left, watching his motherly figure advance, stretching out her talons to grasp him, getting closer and closer... But not close enough before he leapt off of the blue ice, wings snapping to their full extent so fast, the shadowy membranes ripped off of his back in a display or purple light and red blood. He never felt the pain as he roared, somehow gaining altitude as the deathly fire soared all around him and into the sky, blinding him off all sight and deafening his ears with a mighty boom. As he felt his life source melting away, his husk of a body was replaced with something else: relief. He had redeemed himself. The epic fire withered away as SkyWings of all shades of autumn fell out of the sky, killed in mid-flight. He himself felt like he was falling, but he couldn't tell. All he felt was warm scales grasping him, trying to preserve what was left of the rusty dragonet. He tried to open his eyes, but they failed him as icy wind attacked his face. He could feel warm blood trickling along his body and flinging into the air, adding red to the blue and purple sky. Although he could hear nothing, a raspy voice pierced his mind. In the dying tone of his motherly figure, they said: My little Skyforger. ''Epilogue: ''The Forger Of The Sky A lone MudWing soared across the solemn expanse of charred land, littered with the corpses of the once-mighty sky dragons. Although he saw many couples among them, one duo stood out from the rest. He folded his wings, diving for the lost lives in the disaster that occurred only a day before. As he landed beside the dead SkyWings, he recognized one that he hadn't seen for many years. He had maroon scales, a blood-red underbelly, rusty plated scales, deathly black and torn wings, and dark, purple smoke rising from his open mouth, caught in a peaceful snore for the rest of time. He was in the arms of a much larger dragon, this one he realized was the SkyWing queen. She had scarlet scales, a golden underbelly, and plated scales that were clearly painted black. Her spines were long and trimmed, their dark color contrasted by the many gems pierced into the bone. Her pale, white wings were the canvas for streaks of red blood, and her tail ended in a tip of gold. Between two of her claws held a scroll, to which the MudWing's curiosity got the best of him. Stripping the queen of the scroll, he opened the bloodied parchment ever-so-carefully. Quickly scanning the words, he decided that it was best to deliver the news to the rest of the MudWings first. They had to look for survivors, but the SkyWing tribe may already be extinct. As the news spread across Pyrrhia like wildfire, all tribes, even the RainWings, made a constant effort to find the remainders of the tribe. Although they weren't well-liked by the other tribes, the SkyWings held a stock in the other dragons' hearts, and no dragon could bear to think of losing the grumpy sky dragons. A few dragons were found, barely alive and hanging onto the last, frayed sliver of life. They were quickly taken into captivity, but the belief that the tribe may die before their eyes was common amongst the dragons. The scroll the MudWing found was hand-written by the lost SkyWing queen herself. She described everything that had happened up to the point of discovering what her dragonet was up to. She said she would attempt to stop him, and on the scroll was an old SkyWing tale known as The Forger Of The Sky. Apparently it had been the troubled dragonet's favorite story, and the queen hoped to relieve him from his suicide with it. Alas, her hopes died along with her body. The NightWings were first to respond to the news of the tale. They immediately printed copies of the scroll, intent on educating the dragons of Pyrrhia with the disaster that had just befallen the continent. The SeaWings were next in line, with the MudWings and SandWings behind them. The IceWings were fairly reluctant, but eventually agreed. The RainWings, however, didn't give a darn. A SkyWing the color of rusted blood stood on a windy cliff, reliving the past events of her life through her mind. A flapping sound disrupted her peace, and she opened her orange-yellow eyes in annoyance. Unable to locate the source of the sound, she practically roared in surprise when a piece of aged paper slapped her in the face, the wind holding it in front of her eyes as if it wanted her to read it. Taken aback, she peeled the protesting paper off her face and turned so her back faced the wind, allowing her to read the words inscribed on the parchment. Parts of it was written in extreme haste, but she could make out what it said. Looking below the rushed text, a neatly written story hid beneath, titled The Forger Of The Sky. Unaware of such a tale, she began to read. In a world in which the scavengers and their metal beasts ruled the land, a single moon pierced the dark night as the imprisoned dragons sang in their cages, impervious to all chance of freedom. One day, seven of the hundreds of dragons managed to break free... The scroll explained how a dragon ripped parts of the earth into the sky, creating two other moons and piecing the moonlight into the NightWing tribe. Another explained how a different shaped what was left of the earth, using extra rocks and soil to form the MudWings. What caught her eye was about a dragon that brought forth the SkyWings. As the scavenger's metal beasts of the sky lunged to destroy their own creation, this brave dragon tore at the sky, drawing upon their red blood to form an entire new tribe, a tribe from the heavens themselves... She skipped most of the story, partially bored with it. At the bottom, something was written in blood: For my little Skyforger. She read further, suddenly fascinated with what the scroll had to say. She considered taking it back to her dragonets to teach them about past SkyWing culture... maybe then they'd respect her and what they had. But then again, she couldn't. She couldn't fill their heads with fairy tales, especially this far into their lives. She couldn't give them any ideas. This always ended badly in the past. After several more moments of self-debate, she came to a settling conclusion. She rolled the scroll into her talons and rose to the sky, headed to the dark, inky smoke hiding behind the distant mountains beyond. References Category:Fanfictions (Fanon) Category:Fanfictions (Completed) Category:Fanfictions